


Song in a Minor Key

by speakpirate



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: F/F, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 14:43:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14875718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speakpirate/pseuds/speakpirate
Summary: “Whoever this is, they’re good at hiding their true face,” Alison cautions. “How close have you gotten?”Shana gives her a look, quirks the corner of her mouth up. “Close enough.”





	Song in a Minor Key

**Author's Note:**

> _Happy Pride Month! My goal for June is to take a lot of the partially complete stories that have been hanging around in my docs for ages and turn them into finished femslash. Because done is better than perfect and the world needs more femslash. Even this one, because the story of how Alison convinced Shana to help her and then lost her - it has to go something like this, right?_

Shana sits down on a concrete ledge next to Alison. Their meeting place tonight is an abandoned doll factory on the outskirts of Rosewood. Headless plastic bodies are littered across the floor, Shana nudges one with the toe of her tennis shoe as she hands Alison a bag of groceries. 

“That’s my girl,” Alison says, brushing her fingertips over Shana’s as she takes it. Shana forces herself not to stare at the smooth white expanse of Alison’s neck as she bends over to examine the contents of the bag.

The girl must be starving, she’s been keeping such a low profile since the B&B there’s no way she’s ventured out to a restaurant or store this week. But being Alison, she resists showing her hand. She’s still the Queen B, she refuses to tear into bread and peanut butter in front of a servant.

“I’m telling you, Paige McCullers is a dead end,” Shana says, to start off her latest report. 

Alison gives her a doubtful look, so Shana pulls a burner phone out of her backpack. “I cloned her phone for you. There’s nothing there. She calls her great aunt once a week. She sends out cheesy inspirational texts to the swim team before every practice. She wears pantyhose to church. I’m telling you, this girl is vanilla ice cream between two slices of white bread. She’s not devious, Ali.”

Alison buffs an apple against her shirt as she flips through the pictures folder. Emily Fields putting on her swim goggles before a big race. Emily airborne as she dives off the starting blocks into the water. Emily asleep, her swim jacket balled into a pillow, as she dozes against the window of the team bus. 

For a split second, Alison’s face goes soft. 

It’s fleeting. Like catching sight of a deer in the woods back home, gone so quick you blink a little, wondering if it was ever really there. Shana files the moment away for future consideration. A nugget of Alison’s true heart that no one else gets to see.

Alison flips back through the pictures one more time.

“So she’s a stalker,” she comments, taking a bite of the apple. “But a boring one. Is that what you’re telling me?”

Shana rolls her eyes. She thinks of Paige, goofy and intense. She always closes her eyes before they kiss. 

“She has nothing to do with this. She _likes_ Emily. If she were a cartoon, her eyes would turn into hearts and pop out of her head whenever she sees her.”

“Whoever this is, they’re good at hiding their true face,” Alison cautions. “How close have you gotten?”

Shana gives her a look, quirks the corner of her mouth up. “Close enough.”

Alison purses her lips, moves so that her bare shoulder grazes Shana’s. 

She leans forward until their faces are only a few inches apart. 

Her breath mingles with Shana’s, her lips moving tantalizingly close to Shana’s own as she whispers, “This close?” 

“Closer,” Shana replies. Her throat is dry and her heart is racing, but she knows better than to show her hand.

Alison moves away, leaving a draft of cold air in her wake.

“Fine. We’ll move on to your next target.”

“We don’t have to.”

“Of course we do.”

Shana looks around at the rusting machinery, the cracks in the floor where weeds are starting to break through.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” she says, suddenly. “You don’t have to live this way. I have a car. We can get the hell out of here.”

“I can’t leave. You know that.”

“Why not? Whoever is doing this can’t be in two places at once. We could go back to Georgia. Or Wyoming. Someplace nobody ever goes.”

“Are you getting tired of me?” Alison demands.

 _”No._ ”

Ali flips her hair. “Well then. I’m not leaving my friends behind.”

“They’ll be fine. Or they won’t. You don’t even trust them. You trust _me_.” Which, in Ali’s world, might be the closest thing the girl gets to love. She can keep dangling her affections like a carrot on a stick, but when she needed help - she knew Shana would be there. Emily Fields can have her tender sighs. Shana has Alison right in front of her. 

“You’re awfully eager to drop this,” Alison muses. She trails a hand down Shana’s arm, raising goosebumps.

Then her tone changes, flashes a hint of steel. “Are you sure you’re not working together? How do I know that bangs-riddled bitch isn’t dropping her flowery little days of the week panties to get you to turn on me?”

Shana scoffs. “Good girls don’t do it for me. McCullers is one note. You’re the whole concerto.”

Alison smirks, apparently satisfied. “Which concerto?”

Shana chuckles. “Bach. Partita in D Minor.”

“You’ll have to play it for me next time.”

This is her dismissal.

Alison hands her a manilla envelope full of surveillance photos. 

There’s a sudden rumble of thunder outside, a clap of lightning.

“Her name is Jenna Marshall.”


End file.
